Sleep on Our Open Roads
by GingerNutGin
Summary: Armin does not remember catching the illness that caused it. He has not seen nor heard in what feels like years. He does not know what has happened, where the titans are, or why he, Eren, and so many others are traveling so casually outside of the wall. He can only feel the wet grass at his arms and the calloused hands cupping his face every morning.
1. Morning

His dreams had been so erratic lately, an endless meshing of blackness and gritty, static shapes that whizzed past his eyes. His breath was gone, lost in his subconscious as he felt sweat make his skin tacky, and the familiar phantom hotness that erupted against his insides and made them twist and bleed and turn his muscles to pulp.

Across his eyes danced shapes that had grown faded over the years. Once they had been clear, vibrant and saturated with life. He could not remember that time.

A roundish, shaggy circle hovered above his eyes, colored light tan with patches of pretty black hair. It shouted at him, a distorted mouth unhinging and gaping at his eyes.

That was Eren, wasn't it? The last of him that Armin ever saw before it all went black and silent.

He watched as Eren's lips bounced open and closed, two pinkish lines against sun-weathered cheeks.

The voice that whispered through his brain held no recognition any longer. The words were botched, decayed from a faulty memory that had only just started to rust with age, but they were Eren's. His voice could not have been sharper.

What was he yelling? Armin couldn't tell. Words had stagnated from disuse, all jumbled up in a head so preoccupied in keeping the depression out and the sanity in.

There was something on his cheek, something warm and real and rubbing at his skin, grazing the bottom of his chin with the pad of a thumb. It moved back and forth up the hollow of his jawline, with the tip of a ragged nail scratching lightly at his skin.

Eren's face was gone.

The hands at his face stroked and glided to his hair, resting at his brow and petting his bangs away.

Armin knew that they were Eren's hands; they always were. They always woke him up and took him away from the nightmares of deadly fevers and ghostly senses.

He felt the cold moss and clay underneath him, slick and wet with dew, but soft. He had not slept in a bed for the longest time now, though he did not know why or where he even was. That kind of thing no longer mattered to him.

Lips pressed and lingered at his, cracked and shredded and tasting of sour iron from the caked blood that had built up on them. Those were Eren's, too.

It was all the same, every morning when Armin had to 'wake up' . It was the routine that kept him sane. It kept his head clear and made the surprises minimal.

Eren's cheek pressed at his, and warm breath trickled into his ear, fluctuating, rising and falling. Armin could smell him, a scent staled by molding clothes stained with soil and rainwater, but still Eren.

The breath against his ear kept rising and falling. Eren was saying something. He always did, every morning when Armin had to 'wake up'.

But Armin couldn't hear him. He had not heard anything in the longest time, not a peep of sound.

The black sheet over his eyes only made it all the worse.

Eren's face and hands pulled away, and Armin sucked in a harsh breath. His chest pounded. He hated that, too, that needy dependency that had only grown ever stronger over the years.

And then, like clockwork, the hands were back and weaving through his hair, pressing gently at his scalp

The ground was vibrating. It must have been from people and horses, all walking about and eager to get on, but to where?

Armin didn't know.

No one could really tell him anything these days.


	2. Horse

As much as Armin loved Eren's hands, thickened with padding callouses and mapped with nicks, he had always had to make sure that they were 'really' his. Yes, he knew Eren's scent and the unmistakable feel of him, but Armin was a paranoid man. He had been for the past some-odd years.

He lifted one of his hands, fingers spread-eagled, and he felt another hand take them and glide them up to a lean cheek, and grazed upwards. It was let go just as it touched the dome of a forehead.

Armin felt at the brow, the way that the lines were so smoothly drawn about two bushy eyebrows and a smallish, button nose.

As he touched his index finger against the man's lips, they pursed and Armin felt them press towards him, leaning the weight of his head on his hand.

It was Eren, then. Not that Armin wasn't sure already, but it was more than welcome to have that extra reassurance.

Wincing at the air's chill, he forced himself to sit up, his other hand reaching out to grasp for Eren's shoulder. His fingers fumbled at the air for a moment, lost until they clumsily knocked the side of the man's sweaty neck.

His hands were taken, lifted, and turned palm-up. Armin wavered side to side against the breeze that knocked against him, chilly and smelling rank with earth and animal dander.

Something was placed into his upturned hands and rotated about, something soft and crumbling with a thick crust up top and a flaky, plush exterior.

It was taken away as quickly as it had been placed.

The ground was still shaking, but much less now. Armin wondered why. Had the horses stopped? Or were he and Eren the only ones here now?

Before he could even bother to question it, a finger was placed onto his lips, pressing them apart. The thick aroma of bread filled his nose as the pastry knocked against his nostrils.

Armin stiffened, clamped his mouth shut and shook his head, arms flailing to push it away.

After some odd gropes in the air, he grasped the bread, clutched it till it sputtered crumbs and he brought it back to his mouth.

He did not need help to feed himself. He never had, much as Eren always seemed eager to insist otherwise.

Armin ate quickly. The food was nothing special, only something to fill his stomach.

Eren's hand rested at his knee, the other at his back, just between his shoulders.

Soon as the bread was gone, that hand pressed, urging him to stand.

Armin did so, shivering as the wind wrapped more loosely about him, and the smells grew stronger. The horses were still nearby, somewhere lost in the field. Or was it a forest?

No, it was a field. Armin could feel the sun beating down at his skin, subtle as it was against the cold air. If they were in a forest, then the shade would have only made it all the more frigid.

His racing mind was wrenched back as Eren brushed back his hair and tucked it behind his ear.

He felt his hand being taken and tugged forward. Armin squeezed it and walked, feeling the way that his boots sank into the loose ground.

Odd, over the last weeks Eren had nothing but an endless supply of affection to dote out, but now he just seemed wanting to get on.

Armin didn't mind that. If anything, he almost preferred it. It was better for Eren to keep focused on the 'outside' than to bother wasting attention onto him. What if a titan came along?

They only walked a few meters before Eren stopped and lifted Armin's wrist, guiding it to his horse's side, just like every morning.

Soon as Armin touched it, the animal's hide shook and rippled across coarse hairs and thickened muscle. He stroked it, just to try and make it.

Eren grabbed for Armin's waist, and Armin let himself be helped onto the saddle. He didn't mind the help. He had always had trouble getting on by himself. They couldn't waste any more time.

As he held tight to the horse's mane and felt Eren climb up behind him, Armin shuddered and leaned back against him, pressing a hand to his own chest. His heart was racing. It usually did.  
Being outside made him so detestably antsy and stressed nearly every waking moment. It was what happened to everyone in the Survey Corps.

But as Armin leaned back and felt Eren kiss the top of his head, as he felt the horse begin to canter (why so slow?), as another harsh gust of wind ripped at his side he pressed further to Eren's chest.

If he had the ability to hear, he could have just heard Eren's heartbeat, but he couldn't.

Instead, Armin looped his arm around to shove a hand against Eren's chest, holding tight.

He felt the rattling, the slight beating and movement in the man's breast. It was slow, relaxed, just how it had been for the past several days.

And it drove Armin mad to not know _why_.


	3. Mildew

Sometimes, when the horse stumbled over a crag or had to quicken its gallop, Armin found himself stiffening. Anything that signaled a change in the pattern of its gait was enough to send him into an absolute panic.

_Titans. There's a titan right behind us, an abnormal. I just know it._

The horse's legs buckled underneath them, and Armin opened his mouth. His throat vibrated as he cried out and he threw a hand over his lips.

Immediately Eren's arms pulled the reins back and the horse's gallop slowed to a steady canter.

Armin could feel his heart throbbing in his chest, even as the man behind him laced his arms about his stomach and pressed his mouth against the crook of his neck.

Eren did not kiss him this time, but Armin could feel his hot breath ghosting against his skin, up and down. He was talking again.

That only made Armin even more upset. Scrunching up his brow, he twisted his hips around and pasted a firm hand to Eren's mouth, letting the meat of his palm rest at his throat.

He felt the vibrations, varied and jumping up and down as Eren talked. His lips were enunciated something, following a pattern that Armin had tried desperately to translate over the years but could never seem to grasp.

Armin felt tears dot at his eyes and he turned away, hating the way that his chest seemed to hitch as he cried. He cried a lot these days. There just wasn't any other way to let out all of the absolute frustration that endlessly built up within him. It only made him feel all the more terrible whenever Eren coddled him for it.

Eren knew this, and Armin knew that he knew.

The arms around his skinny waist were pulled back and placed back on the reins. Armin could still feel the weight of Eren pressed against his back, the knob of his chin gently bumping the top of his scalp.

As the horse went back to galloping, Armin cried, his hands cupping at his own cheeks as to not get them wet.

They traveled for some time, though Armin didn't know how for how long. Eventually, after the tears stopped flowing, he leaned back into Eren's chest.

The tip of Eren's nose nuzzled the top of his temple and Armin felt himself sigh.

It got colder as the time passed, and the wind grew rougher and whipped against his cloak.

Eren's hand found itself resting at Armin's chest, fumbling with the clasp about his hood and bundling the woolen garment over his shoulders.

Armin crossed his arms underneath it and rubbed his palms against his chapped elbows.

The horse still galloped.

Were they in a forest now? That would explain the cold, but the wind was too strong for it to be that, and they weren't going uphill, either.

Leaning upwards, Armin forced his neck back and took in two long, sniffing breaths of air. It was still moist and dank, like rotting wood and sweat. But there was a sweetness to it as well, a tinged sour smell that was faint, but thick. It was like the smell of piles upon piles of freshly cut weeds in the fields, matted and cloying and peppered with pollen.

Armin had never smelled anything like it. His brow wrinkled up as he turned to press his nose against Eren's sleeve, thinking that it might have been coming from him. It wasn't, and upon his contact he felt Eren's hand run up the back of his neck. Armin ignored it.

The horse was slowing down. Armin could feel its sides heaving. He leaned over to press a hand at its neck, and the wiry fur was slick with sweat. They must have been traveling for a while, then. Either that, or Eren had pushed it too hard.

No matter the reason, its limping walk soon slowed to a total stop. Tugging on the reins, Eren shifted to the side and Armin felt the warmth and weight on his spine slide away.  
Just seconds after a hand curled around his waist, urging him down. Armin braced himself as he slid off of the saddle and into Eren's arms, shaking. Getting off was always the hardest part of all.

Eren held him for a moment as Armin got his footing, holding his arms.

Armin just wavered back and forth for a moment, feeling at the ground. It was softer than before, but not as wet. He pulled away from Eren and bent over to touch it.

The grass was long and stringy, like thin little reeds jutting up from a loamy, packed-in soil. As Armin ran his fingers through them, the blades tangled in-between his fingers and forced him to uproot some of them as he pulled them away.

The wind was still harsh and biting, but the smell was stronger, that alien smell that Armin swore that he did not know the name to. It itched at his nose, like sulfur and dried pond scum. It was an ugly smell, but one that was just so strange that he could not help but breathe it in as deeply as he could.

All around them the ground was vibrating. That must have been from the other horses.

Armin stood back up, trying to ignore the fact that, no, Eren wasn't even wearing his 3D gear. He would have bumped into it if he had. Eren hadn't been for a long, long time, and Armin wasn't even certain on whether or not it was even being stored somewhere close by.

He tried not to think about it. It made the fear and dread even worse when he did.

Eren's hand was on his then and their fingers laced together.

Before he knew it, Armin was being pulled along behind him.

Wherever they were going, Armin didn't know, but the smell of mildew only grew stronger with each and every step.


End file.
